‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. S. Gerald sighed. She ignored his question. He was dressed immaculately in a suit of heavy Shantung silk. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her. ‘Signed by a priest at Le Havre, so it must be true. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less.
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